Changes
by GJVL2
Summary: The Painted Veil, based more on the book than the film. Walter lived, now he and Kitty must put the past aside and learn to truly communicate if they ever hope to get along. Sometimes that's easier said than done. Rated for suggestive themes, though nothing explicit.
1. Chapter 1

It seemed wrong to Kitty that Walter should have lived. An ending rewritten, tinging her initial relief with a wicked sense of disappointment and resignation, mixed with not a little resentment that he should suddenly draw breath and reinsert himself into a world that had reordered itself to exclude him. For those few minutes -so horrifying but so full of promise- in which she had believed herself a widow, her mind had jumped ahead to the future; to the responibilities of motherhood mixed with the freedom of a single woman. For surely no one could fault her for being unmarried, now, when she had done her duties as wife and mother; the former having come to such a tragic end.

The surgeon pronounced Walter to be much stronger than he'd originally thought, having clearly overworked and underfed himself. "As if he found something to live for," the man said with a knowing smile at Kitty.

When Waddington translated, she returned the expression faintly; out of convention more than any real desire to smile.

The idea came to her that perhaps her plea for forgiveness had been misinterpreted by her husband. Perhaps he hadn't realized she'd wanted to ease his way into death, but thought instead that she wanted to make another go of it. Certainly at that moment she'd wished for nothing more, but it was no more than the vain wish of one who knew that there'd be no chance to make amends and comforted themselves with the knowledge that they _would _have tried if they could. It was irritatingly possible that Walter had, instead, taken her words at face value and found some hidden reserve to call upon. Now she would be forced to nurse him and -once more- put her own needs and wants second to his own.

With these bitter thoughts she glanced at her husband and what she saw there gave her more reason than ever to pity him. He'd turned his head to watch her and his eyes held no less disappointment and resignation than her own, and she thought there was something apologetic in the set of his eyebrows. As if he recognized the inconvenience of living and wished to make up for it. And in that flash of her pity, there was irritation, as well, that he should inflict such guilt upon her without intending. A hopeless, helpless, pitiful creature she must now care for as if he were a lost puppy left on her doorstep.

Waddington came to her in her shocked silence, putting an arm about her shoulders. "Come, Mrs Fane. You've had quite the turn, poor dear. I'll take you home for now."

Kitty nodded and let herself be steered towards the door, stopping there to turn back. "When will you release him," she asked the surgeon.

Waddington translated and nodded at the man's reply. "Not for a few days," he told her, "Dr Fane is much too weak to be moved."

She nodded again and stepped out into pre-dawn air. For a few days, her life could be her own and she could come and go almost as she pleased before turning herself into a nursemaid.


	2. Chapter 2

The Mother Superior was more pleased than Kitty herself by the news of Walter's recovery and sent Kitty away from the convent with the gentle reprimand that she mustn't wear herself out over near-strangers when her place was now to care for her husband. It was more than a little irksome to have so many people have an idea of where _her_ place was, but protesting did her no good when the older woman only smiled a little and told her with a fond sternness that while the help was greatly appreciated the doors of the convent would be henceforth shut to her until such time as Dr Fane no longer needed her. It was no good for her health trying to do both.

And so it was a week later, a thinner and stubble-faced Walter was carried home one evening to a wife made impatient by the heat and ill-tempered by boredom. For days she'd had no way to cure the restlessness inside her; going for walks and coming home to find herself tired and even more irritable than before. She fiercely resented this newly-rediscovered isolation just as she was beginning to find herself and feel useful.

"Well, here we are again," he said to her scowling silence when she brought in the tray with his bland, leafy supper. The vegetables were cooked, but the meal was to her senses as dull as Walter ever had been. Turning away, in a fit of childish pique she thought it only right he should have to eat something so tasteless.

"I'm very sorry, darling," his words had that edge of mockery to them she so detested, a cruel jest thrown at her obvious unhappiness. The word darling, in particular, dripped with scorn as he threw the endearment she'd recenly uttered so desperately back in her face. "I _did_ try."

Kitty froze with her back to him, the words arresting her not even halfway out of the room. "You-" She faced him slowly, "Surely you don't mean, you-" But he gave her neither look nor answer, smiling with a bitter sort of satisfaction down at his plate and presently she left him again.

When she returned later, from another short walk that did nothing to refresh her spirits, Walter had eaten nothing and laid the tray aside. His eyes were closed but Kitty thought he couldn't be deeply asleep when she'd barely left for half an hour. So it was with no guilt she gave his shoulder the tiniest jostle.

"You'll never get your strength back if you don't eat."

Propped against the pillows, he barely cracked his eyes and gave the tiniest shrug. "I don't want it."

Curiously, she was unsure if he meant the food or his strength. Given his earlier remark, it was entirely possible he meant both. "You're being ridiculous," she snapped. "there's no point in martyring yourself."

"Yes, dear, as you say."

The tired, derisive words only increased her anger and she picked up the fork herself, generously laden with leaves. "You eat or I'll _make _you eat."

He must have taken her threat seriously, for though he gave a short chuckle from behind lips pressed tightly together, he was careful to make no remark. When she held the fork up before him, the tines resting against the chapped seam of skin, he raised his eyebrows in silent challenge but still refused the food. She pressed as hard as she dared, until a drop of blood appeared and she let the utensil drop with a cry of frustration. Walter smiled. Kitty grabbed tray and fork and stormed out.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, she sent the amah in with his breakfast and took herself off to the kitchen for her own meal. It was some time before the woman returned, and when she did she tearfully made Kitty understand that though master had allowed her to help him into the bathroom, he'd afterwards only drank the honey-lime water and refused food. Kitty frowned down at her own plate, displeased that he should be so inconveniently stubborn.

"It's alright," she assured the distraught amah, a hand resting briefly on her arm. "I'll take care of it."

In Walter's bedroom, she again found him dozing with the tray on the table beside him. His hair was slightly damp, freshly washed, though curiously he remained unshaven. Tiptoeing in, she quietly picked up the fork and speared a piece of cooked apple from the untouched bowl. Quickly, before he could wake and discover what she meant to do, she shoved the food between his sleep-slackened lips. He did wake, then, startled, and at first chewed reflexively to avoid choking, but Kitty could see as he came back to himself that he meant to refuse this, too, and her hand was over his mouth before he could.

"Swallow it," she said sternly. He rolled his eyes but did as commanded. "Now," she went on, lifting the fork again, "must I force every bite?"

His mouth was again tightly shut, and she saw the gleam of impending triumph in his eyes, but her own small victory had buoyed her confidence. She again rested the fork against his lips, aware that he was silently laughing at her, but this time she pinched his nose and shoved the food in when he was forced to gasp for air, then quickly released his nose to clamp her hand back over his mouth before he could even think of spitting. Glaring resentfully, he dutifully chewed and swallowed. Kitty smirked, unable to help being a little smug.

"I've nothing to entertain me, I can do this all day."

"Give it here, then," he said with bad grace and took the fork, waiting for her to place the tray back over his lap. "You may go."

"So you can find some other way to avoid eating?" When he'd taken the fork, she'd noticed the white of a new bandage around his wrist, peeking from his sleeve, and realized the reason for his still prickly face and the amah's rather disproportionate tears. She'd wager that if she went into the bathroom his razor would be gone. Walter could not be left to his own devices.

He scowled darkly when she pulled the chair from beneath the night table and sat down. Spearing an apple, he raised the fork and then stopped. "I can't eat with you staring at me."

She conceded to his self-consciousness, pointedly turning to face the wall behind the table. "Were you this much trouble at the hospital?"

"No." Silence, broken only by soft sounds of a fork scraping, Walter chewing. "I didn't want to upset anyone."

"You're upsetting me," she said, fingers laced tightly together atop the table.

"Am I," he wondered faintly, but she could tell from his tone he expected no answer.


	4. Chapter 4

Her days fell into a pattern of tedium. The amah was left to nurse Walter the rest of the time, the heat making Kitty more than a little ill, but mealtimes were hers from necessity. He could frown and sulk all he liked, but Kitty -as his wife- need not fear unemployment as retribution, and so could bully him into eating.

"You look a fright," she told him one morning a few days later, setting the tray on his lap and settling herself into the chair with an old magazine.

"An unsuccessful death will do that."

Her eyes narrowed. "I was referring to your whiskers." For, indeed, he had not shaved since before taking sick and the newly-forming beard was unbecoming on his wasted face. "I understand our amah had to take your razor."

It was the first she'd admitted to knowing what had transpired on his first morning home and he looked suitably taken aback to find that she knew. "I swore her to secrecy."

"I have eyes," she replied, gesturing to his bandaged wrist. "And a brain, though you may not believe it."

He shrugged, ignoring the jab. "You could turn a blind eye."

"More ridiculousness."

"I saw the way you looked at me." The words were tired rather than accusing. "I was alive, and you looked as if the world had ended."

Kitty looked up from her magazine then, guilt and apology written on her face. For once, she did not begrudge him the former. She _should _feel horrible for her horrible thoughts.

"Walter..." But there were no words she knew that would properly convey to one's husband that you were sorry you'd ever wished him dead. Not when one already had so much too apologize for. And she desperately wished she could, now, for she could clearly see that what she had dismissed as silly only days before was rotting him from the inside. But she'd expressed her regret at his false deathbed and spoiled it all by being unable to control her own awful thoughts. It was unlikely he'd accept any apology she made now. "Would you like a shave after breakfast," she asked instead.

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile that was almost playful but for the dark edge to it. "I see. You'd prefer to do the job yourself. Very well."

She refused to protest her innocence; he would only mock her for it. She'd only meant to return his razor and supervise the process, but his words stiffened her spine. Walter was practically daring her to slit his throat, taunting her with the knowledge that he wouldn't care if she did. So Kitty accepted his misinterpretation of her words and after he'd eaten she took the tray away, and when she returned it held his shaving kit, a towel and a bowl of hot water. He stirred uneasily at realizing she really meant to do this.

Kitty understood her mistake too late, dampening the towel and wrapping it round him. The heat relaxed him, and for a moment his eyes drifted shut and he looked as peaceful as he'd ever looked when in the night she would wake from the heat and wriggle herself free from the cage of his arms. When she took it away again, her hands were shaking and he noticed, looking at them with amusement.

"Careful, dear." Though the words were fond enough, his tone was all morbid amusement. "Wouldn't want you to slip."

She set her jaw determinedly, whipping the lather in the little bowl giving her a few precious seconds to recover herself. A pointless endeavour when it came time to apply the lather to Walter's face. He made a valiant effort to keep his eyes on her, to disconcert her with the directness of his stare, but at the first stroke of the razor his own nerves failed him and they squeezed shut.

Controlling her shaking was easier if she didn't truly look at her husband. As her careful handling of the blade went on, the slackening of his jaw told her he'd relaxed and though she must keep her eyes on her task, she looked without seeing after that first initial glimpse which revealed an unexpected expression of pleasure; his lips slightly parted. Once more guilt washed over her at the knowledge that his desires had gone unfulfilled longer than her own, and that she'd never done anything for him half so intimate as this. He caressed her, she submitted as a wife ought without returning those caresses. It appeased her somewhat now, once his skin was smooth again, to draw the process out by rewetting the towel and washing the remaining lather away herself. She ignored the way quiet way he sighed when she did so, for once nothing tired or mocking about it. Thus, with her husband looking far more human, Kitty grabbed the tray and fled.


	5. Chapter 5

Lunch found Walter to be an even more disagreeable invalid. He ate without complaint, but he asked when he might get up. And he did not like her decision to keep him confined for one more week, at the least. The last part suggested all too clearly that she'd keep him there longer, if need be. She said he might try going out onto the porch for some fresh air in a few days, thinking it might please him just to be out of the room, but he wanted to work. This she refused.

Certainly Kitty understood his desire to be up and about, to feel useful, but it was obvious that right now Walter couldn't be left alone or out of anyone's sight for any extended period. She'd studied his notes one day while tidying his office just for something to do, and they seemed to suggest that he'd infected himself deliberately. Observations about the effects were all carefully noted in his precise handwriting, at least until illness overcame neatness; a man who would push himself so hard and then take such a chance was not to be trusted on his own.

Thwarted in his request, Walter snapped at her to leave him alone while he ate. Finding him even less pleasant than usual just then, she agreed.

"I'll send the amah."

"I'll fire her if you do."

"I can always hire her back, but, as you insist on bullying her, I'll stay."

And she read her magazine without acknowledging him as he sulked his way through his tasteless meal. Afterwards, she took the tray as usual but this time she returned with his deck of cards.

"Patience," she teased, hoping to pull him out of his black mood, "is just the game for you right now."

His smile didn't reach his eyes, but she ignored that. It was recent habit to ignore his unhappiness; at least her reasons this time were noble. If she pretended things were alright, and refused to quarrel, then he couldn't quarrel, either.

They played in silence, as the rules dictated, and Kitty won the first hand.

"New rule, darling?"

Once more she overlooked the sneering way he said it, turning the endearment into a weapon. A pointed reminder of every time she had deliberately excluded him from everything 'darling' to her.

"Of course, darling, let me think." Her own use was no less sneering. She might refuse to quarrel outright, but if he insisted on jabbing needles of guilt under her skin, she could prick at him with the knowledge that she found him completely unlovable. "The loser has to tell the winner one secret for every hand lost. Winner's choice." She smiled in memory. "It was a favorite at sleepovers when I was a girl."

"Perhaps I don't want to know any more secrets about you."

The needle jabbed at her again. Kitty pretended not to feel it, though she prickled with hurt at his dismissal of her reminiscence. "Then I'd better keep winning."

She lost. Gnawing her lip, she waited in the most awful, awkward silence for Walter to ask his question. A kinder person would give her something easy; favorite color, favorite song. Walter had not been inclined to kindness with her for months.

"Could you have ever loved me?"

The cruelest question he could have asked for both of them. And he already knew the answer. His eyes were downcast, his face turned away and the words had trembled on his lips.

"I'm sorry." Her voice wavered, tears constricting her throat. "I made up my mind against you ages ago. I'm sorry, Walter."

"Yes, well-" He choked, cleared his throat and pressed his lips together, collecting himself. His thin hands fidgetting with the blanket. "I don't think I want to play this game anymore."

Kitty nodded quietly, gathering the cards. There was another meaning to his words, but she wouldn't embarrass him with her knowledge of it. "Perhaps tomorrow," she offered, a meaningless pleasantry.

"Perhaps," he agreed tiredly, sinking against the pillows. He meant 'no.'


	6. Chapter 6

She called on Waddington that afternoon, desperate for a diversion, and asked if he might come around to supper.

"Walter's terribly bored," she said with false lightness.

"Course he is. Man's liable to get very unpleasant laying in bed with nothing to do." And he winked at her, offering sympathy for their nonexistant plight. Walter would never ask her into his bed again. The thought was a lonely one. She might have no desire for her husband, but she did miss the way he'd kiss her goodnight. At first, she'd been relieved when the kisses stopped. No more would she have to worry that he'd press for more than a kiss. No more dutiful submission. Perhaps it was the irrationality of pregnancy, but she wanted quite desperately to be kissed goodnight. She'd not taken this wish out and examined it too closely, but it had been there ever since discovering she was with child. She chalked it up to missing true human contact and thought no more about it.

Waddington came around about six and even had Kitty hated him she'd have been pleased to see him that evening. The three of them dined in Walter's room and because he hated making scenes her husband had no choice but to eat without complaint. Nor could he snipe at her. For a few precious hours, the barbed endearment was retired. In fact, he barely addressed her at all, even by name; focusing all his attention on their guest, as was only proper, of course.

"You must come 'round again tomorrow," Kitty said, seeing their guests to the door later that night, "I haven't seen Walter so lively in days." The charming lie slid easily off her tongue, but Waddington studied her through thoughtfully narrowed eyes.

"I suppose you haven't," he conceded at last, "Cholera takes a lot out of a body. But he'll be his old self in no time."

She didn't tell him that she rather hoped not.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning brought the return of Kitty's uncomfortable new routine of seeing that Walter was properly shaven after breakfast. He seemed almost determined to goad her into killing him, for he applied endearments with particular venom as she prepared her work station. He sneered when she brushed the foam onto his face but afterwards- afterwards, with her hand holding his skin taut, he stopped talking entirely. His throat bobbed, his breathing grew a little ragged and Kitty would have thought him nervous if she hadn't chanced that one glimpse yesterday. She had little doubt that she'd find the same expression if she dared to truly look today. Naturally, she might have explained yesterday's misunderstanding and handed him the razor with the caveat that she would stay to ensure he behaved himself, but she felt perversely that she _wanted _to do this for him. If she could give him nothing else of herself, he could have this. And it was curiously breathtaking, holding this much power over him with something so simple, yet so personal.

Lunch saw the return of Patience...and disaster. After much cajoling, Walter agreed only from boredom, lost the first hand and -sticking to yesterday's rules- Kitty thought to ask him a more pleasant question than he'd aked her.

"Do you remember your first kiss?"

"Vividly." But he wasn't smiling. The next hand was his and he returned fire, scoffing a little when she said she had only a vague memory of some visiting American boy with metal on his teeth, when she was fourteen. "Of course you'd forget," he observed with studied disinterest.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, darling. I was merely remarking on how little such intimacies seem to mean to you."

Charlie, again! Always there between them and he refused to forget. "Can't we be friends," she asked in exasperation.

"I rather think not."

But she refused to let him drive her from the room and they continued playing Patience with grim determination; a bloodless battlefield. Kitty won the next hand and challengingly asked him, if he remembered the kiss so vividly, what was the girl like?

"In hindsight, she was horrible. But you'd know, darling, you were there."

"Me?" Kitty put a hand to her breast in shock. Walter stared back levelly despite the high color in his cheeks at admitting he'd gotten well into his twenties without kissing anyone until her. "So you were a...?" She spared him the word 'virgin'. "That's sweet," she said with a little smile and surprising sincerity. And really, it was. Men fussed constantly about a woman 'saving herself' for him, making her into a conquest, but she knew no one who could claim to have ever been a man's first. Surely all men had to take a first lover at some point, but it didn't spoil his matrimonial prospects and so wasn't talked about with nearly as much regularity. She had been forced to curb her own desires many times when hands began wandering or kisses grew too heated. "To think you were waiting."

"Lack of opportunity," he explained coldly, "don't flatter yourself."

"Perhaps I shouldn't," she grew cold in her turn, hating him for pushing away yet another attempt at peace. "Perhaps," she threw her handful of cards down onto the bed, uncaring when they scattered, "Perhaps it's deeply _un_flattering to know that I was simply a pretty girl in the right place at the right time. You could have danced with any girl that season and 'fallen in love,'" the words had a sneering emphasis. "You never loved me! You wanted to sleep with me, and you didn't want to go back to Hong Kong alone! I could have been anybody. You didn't know me, really."

Walter let his own cards fall, more than a little crumpled from his clutching them. "Don't pretend that breaks your heart when you only married me so Doris wouldn't go first!"

"That's true," Kitty stood to leave, smoothing her dress just for something to do with her hands. "We were, both of us, in this for the wrong reasons. I didn't love you, and you didn't really love me. But you never tried, Walter."

"I gave you everything you could ever ask for," he insisted, fidgetting with the covers so as not to look at her.

"And I appreciated that, but it wasn't enough." Some of the fight went out of her at the defeated way he sat. He'd misunderstood her again. "Yes, you were a good husband, but you never talked to me." He glanced up, and would have protested but Kitty, realizing he was listening for once had seated herself again and she stopped him with a finger to his lips. "Not about anything important. I've learned more about you today in two hours than you ever told me in two years."

"What would you have said," he asked when she moved her finger, "if I'd told you on our wedding night that I had no idea what I was doing? You'd have laughed," he answered for her, miserably triumphant in the assumption he was right.

Her temper wanted to flare again, but she held it in check. "I barely knew more than you," she informed him quietly. "And if you'd asked, you might have done a better job of it." He flinched and turned bright red and Kitty realized too late that she'd phrased that in the most horrible way possible. "Oh, God, that's not what I meant-"

"Will you go away now, Kitty?" He slid down in the bed, turning his back to her. "I think I'd like to rest."

And she went only because she knew his ears were closed to anything else no matter what she might say. Waddington's presence that night was again nothing short of a relief as he kept the two of them laughing, their thoughts far from each other. But after seeing him to the door, Kitty returned to her husband's room.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Not tonight, thank you." For a moment, his mouth hung open as if he meant to say more, but he cut himself off before he could hurl any more barbs at her.

Kitty nodded. "Goodnight, Walter.

As she left, she thought she heard a faint "Goodnight, darling," with no hint of venom to spoil the sweetness.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, a more subdued than usual Walter offered to take the razor from her, only he wasn't quite up to standing if she'd like to hold a mirror for him. Kitty refused the offer, going about her task with a newfound appreciation. She wondered if this was how a man must feel on finding out he'd been the first. It was as if Walter belonged to her in some indefinable way, as if he could only ever belong to her. She dared to watch his face this morning, contemplated the pleasing shape of his mouth and thought about stealing one of her missed kisses from his parted lips. He must have sensed her gaze, for he stirred and opened his eyes to watch her.

His dark eyes were made even darker with an unexpectedly bold desire; but then, he'd always been at his most unself-conscious making love to her and she bitterly regretted she'd never taken advantage of that fact. What if, instead of merely tolerating his presence, she'd sought to draw him out when he was most relaxed? One cannot, after all, doubt the welcome given to their naked mind by one holding their naked body.

It was all she could do to control the rhythm of her breathing; knowing he watched her, the rise and fall of her chest grew ragged and uneven. She moistened her suddenly dry lips and the soft sound he made was one she knew well. Kitty had not said "no" to her husband very often, no matter how she disliked her marital bed, only when she had to plead her womanly troubles (and no one could have asked for a more attentive husband when she did, as Walter never failed to make a nuisance of himself seeing to her comfort), and at the end she'd had far too many headaches after taking Charlie into her bed. The sound he made now was the same noise of frustrated desire he'd make when, after kissing her goodnight, Kitty would gently but firmly brush him aside. The sound unexpectedly tugged at her and she swallowed heavily. Her eyes rose to meet his and she fumbled the razor; nicking his jaw and thankfully breaking the spell.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Grateful for something to do that took her -however briefly- out of the room, she hurried into the bathroom for a sticking plaster. The time it bought her wasn't nearly enough, and when she returned she fluttered about madly trying to make the plaster stay at the awkward angle beneath his chin.

"Darling," Walter's hand covered hers, squeezing a little before pulling it away from his face. "Darling," he said again and Kitty startled to realize there was nothing but fond teasing in his voice, "it's alright. I won't bleed out from there."

Flustered, she dropped her gaze then all at once began to laugh. It was too absurd! She was fussing about over nothing and Walter was calling her "darling" with half his face still covered in foam. When she dared look up, he was watching her almost as he had in the old days; the familiar adoration mixed with confusion at her sudden hysteria. Gesturing weakly to her own face only further confused him, and that, too, was funny, but when she finally made him understand he joined her in laughing at nothing. It was ridiculous how long they laughed, but the tension of the last few months bled out with it and so they didn't stop until Walter was breathless and Kitty lay on her back, clutching at her stomach.

And all at once she was aware of herself sprawled across her husband's bed. A stronger man- and a happily married one- might have taken advantage of the situation. A happily married woman would have encouraged it. Walter was neither strong, nor happily married, and Kitty could no longer say whether she was happy or not, only that she would have encouraged him. Something fearful had crept into his eyes, though, and a sudden foreboding seized her.

"Kitty...nevermind."

"No, go on." She propped herself on her elbows, turning her full attention to him.

"If I had asked," he began, looking away from her at the wall. Then the doorway. He looked trapped; hunted. Searching for an escape while pressing on. "Or been," he struggled to get the next word out, "_better_," his emphasis left no doubt as to his meaning. "Would you have still...with Townsend?"

Oh, why did he have to spoil everything! As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Kitty thought herself terribly unfair. There was an openness about the moment he must have recognized, too, and he'd seized the opportunity to take yesterday's words to heart. He was talking to her; he was _trying. _And god help her, she was entirely dismayed that he should do so, now, when they had been so happy just minutes ago, even as she knew a more sober moment would have sealed his tongue.

"I don't know," she told him, falling back onto the bed and letting her hands cover her face. "I just don't know."


	9. Chapter 9

For a few days afterwards, they sheepishly slipped back into the routine of not talking to each other. Walter, she was sure, had hoped for a different answer and was sorry for ever asking, and Kitty was ashamed she couldn't give him the answer he wanted. Though quite what it should have been she couldn't say. To chalk her unhappiness up purely to his lack of prowess would have only wounded him further, but to deny it would have given him an entirely false hope. He had not been likable enough for her to ever love, and by the time she'd realized it was possible to tease and draw him out of his shell it had been too late; her newfound playfulness with her husband owing entirely to her newfound happiness with Charlie. Has Walter been a more skilled lover, but the same in all other aspects, Charlie would have been delayed, no more than that.

But the morning came when she could not simply slip into his room, sit in silence while he ate and slip out again. Walter was, if not entirely recovered, at least on the mend enough to move about the house. When he joined her at table for breakfast, she frowned a little at the way his clothes still didn't quite fit. Her frown grew when she saw that his face was smooth.

"You weren't to be left alone with a razor." Inexplicably, she felt cheated that he should have shaved without her help. As if something precious had been taken from her.

"Our amah stayed with me." He smiled a little, turning his face this way and that for her inspection, then rolled his sleeves to the elbows to show that his arms remained uninjured, as well. "I haven't done anything foolish."

"Nonetheless, I would... prefer it if the old routine were too continue." Flushing, she looked down at her plate, hoping dutiful concern explained away her request.

"Oh," he said with pleased surprise. "Alright." If he understood, he spared her further blushes by not letting on.

After breakfast, Kitty invited him to sit on the porch with her and take in the fresh air, as she'd found it soothed her stomach. He might have made the journey himself, but she guided him with an arm about his waist and he gave only a token protest, which went ignored. Sitting on the steps together in the marginally cooler outside air, she dared broach the subject of their unhappiness again.

"We're not very compatible, you know," she wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees and kept her face forward, away from him.

Walter sat on the step above her, chin in hand. "No," he agreed.

"What diverts you bores me, and what bores me diverts you."

"Yes." For a moment, all was peace and silence broken only by the call of early morning birds. "Is it so horrible for you, that I lived?"

"Oh, no! Please don't think that." She turned in alarm, ducking her head that she might meet his lowered eyes. "No. I wanted-" She turned the words over in her head, searching for the right ones. Words that wouldn't _hurt. _There were none. "I never particularly wanted to be married, and I saw freedom. And then I felt cheated, I suppose, that it was taken away so quickly."

His smile was all regret. "A divorce would please you?"

"Divorce," she whispered, her mind rushing ahead to find the trick. "Under what conditions?"

"None," Walter was quick to assure her, taking her hand in his as reassurance. "A friendly offer. We could do the thing quietly, as you wanted."

"May I have some time to think?"

"Of course," he said with some surprise.

And small wonder he should be, Kitty reflected, when she made it abundantly clear she wanted to be away from him in the past. Now, though, she had begun to feel oddly possessive of him. She would have her freedom, yes, but to think that he might marry again made her throat tight. Sex with Charlie had meant so little to her after awhile, forgetting his face and knowing she was only one of many. She'd assumed, once, that only Walter's vanity had been hurt by her infidelity, but knowing what she did now, she knew it had been something much deeper which had broken in him. Walter was far too self-contained, but he had loved her with all of himself even if he hadn't really known how to show it. In their bed, she had always known he was at his most vulnerable, and to think some other woman would lower his defenses that way -perhaps take advantage of the openness she'd been so contempous of and draw him even closer to her- was more than she could bear.

By the end of the day, she still had no answer for him and he tried to gently rebuff her efforts at conversation or distraction. He wanted only one conversation right now, he said, and until then it was best for his nerves if they didn't speak of anything else. Kitty wanted to scream. How was she to _know _if she could stay married to him if he was back to not speaking to her. His silence was partly responsible for driving her away in the first place.

"Walter, for pity's sake! I shall go mad if you don't talk to me." She'd grown quite fed up by the time Waddington left, unfortunately early as his sense of trouble was unerring even if he never quite knew the cause.

"I'm sorry," he said with sincerity. "I don't know what to say. I don't know what you _want _me to say."

"Anything, please."

"Best not," he said with finality, but added "darling," as a softening afterthought.

She was beginning to enjoy the word again, the needles having been removed from it. Even so, she could bring herself to offer him no endearments of her own and had retired them altogether when truce was silently declared.


	10. Chapter 10

They passed time as friendly strangers, conversations on the porch short and meaningless when Walter could bring himself to speak -fine weather this morning, how are you-, until one morning he asked again if she'd like to return to Hong Kong. Or perhaps England.

"It would be best," Kitty agreed, wiping the last of the foam from his face. No matter how awkward, neither of them could bring themselves to stop this ritual. "But what about you? You won't stay out here alone?"

"I think perhaps they won't have me back," he admitted sheepishly, "after what I did. Mind you, it was a tremendous help, but I understand from Waddington that they aren't anxious to have me back in the field."

The decision was easy in the end, but it left Walter even more unsettled when they'd agreed to go. She'd still given him no answer, and the day before they were to leave he was more agitated than usual, folding and packing his clothes with an aggression that would have amused her if she'd not been in a similar state. By evening, she almost couldn't stand the sight of him pacing about and when he suggested that he might like to dine alone at Waddington's, just to give them a break from each other, she jumped to agree. Let him leave her for a little while, perhaps she might think in peace. His silently hopeful presence was intolerable and made her wary of rejecting him no matter what she discovered of her own feelings. It would have been like kicking a puppy.

She'd come to no certain decision when he returned, but he was much more cheerful and Kitty felt emboldened enough by that to attempt the much-needed conversation. If only her thoughts weren't so muddled, but perhaps speaking them outloud would make sense of them.

"I never liked being married to you," she began, pacing as Walter folded his arms on the dining room table and laid his head on them. "And I don't think you ever really loved me for my own sake. You all but called me a beautiful idiot, do you remember," she asked with all the asperity of remembered hurt.

Walter nodded tiredly against his arm, not looking at her. And she felt bad for bringing it up when he was obviously not fully himself yet, and no doubt exhausted on top of it. He'd really pushed himself, walking to their neighbor's.

"But," she went on, "being here, I don't think much of the girl I was, either. And I wonder if you wouldn't find me more of an equal, now. And then there's the issue of..." Oh, she knew he hated this subject, but it must be done! "Of...our bed. I never really enjoyed it, but lately, for some reason, I miss it. Does that make sense?"

When her husband raised himself to look at her, he did not look as Kitty expected. Instead of the mortified hurt she'd thought to see, he was grinning. "No," he said, cheerful and slow. "Not a bit."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" All of that, and he wasn't even in his right mind tonight. She spun to leave, more than a little annoyed.

"Kitty! Kitty, wait!" Walter stumbled after her, catching her at the door with a hand on her arm. Wearing a drunken imitation of his most serious expression, he beckoned her to lean in with his free hand. When she did not, he brought his lips close to her ear, instead. "I think. I'm very...drunk," he told her sincerely. And giggled.

"I think you're right," she said with exasperation, lips twitching in spite of herself.

Drunk Walter was just as affectionate as post-coital Walter, as it turned out, for when she tried to gently tug her arm from his grasp, he looked every bit the lost puppy she often compared him to and pulled her into his arms. Embracing her from behind, he laid his head on her shoulder with a contented sigh, nuzzling at her neck. She'd longed so very badly to be held and petted lately, that it was no surprise to her that her blood heated.

"Walter," she said with a little smile, "are you trying to seduce me?"

He paused, turning his head to regard her with confusion. "I don't know. Am I?"

"I think so," Kitty laughed when he tugged at her earlobe with his teeth.

"Oh. Alright." He nodded seriously before rubbing his cheek against her own, his evening stubble chafing her pleasantly. "Is it working?"

She bit her lip, almost bursting with giddy tenderness.

"Yes," she admitted, and Walter looked decidedly proud of himself when she turned in his arms, putting her own around his neck to kiss him.

He'd had no practice since she turned him out of her bed, and thus had not improved. Sex for its own sake, then, was a lost cause for her. But sex because she wanted to be near him, that was new and novel, and pleasant enough in its way. Walter was as unskilled as ever he'd been, moreso with the drink, but he giggled his way through his clumsiness so that she became caught up in laughing, too, and in the end they were both more amused than aroused and very pleased with themselves when he fell asleep on her naked breast before they'd gotten very far.


	11. Chapter 11

Kitty knew a moment of alarm the next morning when she woke to find herself undressed, and flung herself from the bed in fright, before a pained groan next to her brought the previous evening back. Laughing quietly, she settled again and stretched luxuriously in search of a comfortable position; feeling lazy and languid and strangely content.

"Stop moving," Walter pleaded, and she turned to find her equally naked husband on her right, the sheet barely tangled around him and doing nothing for his modesty. In fact, there was little point in him having it, at all, as if he'd made a halfhearted grab for it at some point in the night and given up. Which was entirely possible, given that she was near cocooned and had always taken the blankets for herself.

She took the opportunity to truly look at him, as she'd not done in awhile. Or ever, really. His color was much improved in these past few weeks, though he was still far too thin; all angles and sharpness on a body that never had much weight in the first place. He'd look better when he'd gained it back, healthier, but she still found much to appreciate in the elegant line of his neck as he lay half-turned from her, his left arm thrown over his eyes to block the morning light. In the sharpness of him, she saw a promise of lean beauty once he was back to his old self and she wondered that she'd never appreciated him before because her husband had an altogether pleasing frame.

Making her way nearer to him, she laid her head on his chest – his arm came around her shoulders in welcome- and bit her cheeks to supress her giggles. "How are you feeling?" For answer, he placed his right index finger over her lips, eyes still closed. She snickered outright. "Can we talk?"

He shushed her with pained insistence. "Later, darling, please."

She didn't know if it was the hangover or his fear talking, but she took pity on both and settled for pressing a kiss just over his heart and quietly agreeing. It was almost like the very early days of their marriage, laying here like this, and if he'd fallen back into his old habit of babytalking at her, she couldn't say that she'd mind very much at all.

But the world was waiting for them, and they must get up or they'd miss their boat. Now that the opportunity to leave was truly there, Kitty couldn't bear that it should be delayed. Walter, on the other hand, moved slower than he ever did; whether by accident or design she couldn't say. Either way, she nagged at him until at last they stood on the porch one last time, suitcases around them, and there wasn't time for it, but Walter seized her about the waist and kissed her. There was a desperation in it, pressed against the wall with her dress crumpled by his clutching hands and her own grasping and mussing his hair. He kissed her as if he feared he'd never have the chance again and her lips tasted of salt when he finally released her.

The boat was small, but Walter would have avoided her altogether in spite of that if Kitty had allowed it. He was reading at the back when she sat down next to him, but he let the book drop to the seat, forgotten, when she rested her head against his shoulder and kissed the underside of his jaw. She'd marked him there last night -he was very shy of that mark and had ducked his head to hide it when the captain smirked knowingly-, and had noted he enjoyed it. Sad to think she'd never bothered about such things before now.

"Tell me something about yourself."

"What would you like to know?"

"Anything." She kissed him again, hoping it would draw him out. How much simpler it had been when she was indifferent to him; teasing him into smiling had meant nothing, cajoling him into speaking even less. Now everything was muddled and what had once been meaningless had become sacred.

He was silent for some minutes, leaving her uncertain as to whether or not he meant to answer her. For incentive, she nuzzled and caressed him (his neck was very sensitive); hoping in this way to relax him into speaking as openly as he might have in bed.

"I-" There was a strangled quality to his voice that Kitty felt entirely smug about. "I wanted to be a violinist. But I'm hopeless at reading music." Which she considered a shame because he had such lovely hands; delicate and expressive. Musician's hands.

"I could show you sometime, if you like." She'd managed to distract herself completely, perhaps moreso than him. It was odd, how much she desired to be close to him and she wondered if pregnancy were doing strange things to her mind.

Walter agreed that it might be nice to learn something of music, which he did enjoy even if he had no gift for it, but he did so in the same tone people mouth meaningless pleasantries and offer to visit when they know they can't or won't. He wasn't counting on much more of a future with her, no matter how she clung to him, now, and Kitty wished she could soothe him with reassurance but she had none to give. She didn't know, herself, what might become of them back amongst society. Back near Charlie. Instead, she smiled and held him tighter in silence; and when he sought her lips she gave them almost too eagerly.


	12. Chapter 12

They shared a bed, the first night back, though to Kitty's frustration her husband did no more than kiss her goodnight at her bidding. He kissed her for quite awhile, as if he were storing them away, but no more than that even when she tried to hint that such advances would be welcome.

He greeted her with more kisses the next morning and left her agitated beneath her skin. It was all she could do to manage the razor, and the process was torturously slow as a result. She had her revenge in the way Walter kept shifting so that it took even longer if she didn't want to cut him. Did he share her restlessness? And would he tell her if he did? In the old days, he'd have kissed her and gently pressed his advantage until she either yielded or put him off, but that was before Charlie and before she told him what a chore it was.

On the first day back, they rested side by side on the couch, closer than they'd ever sat in the past and Kitty wondered again that she'd never wanted this. Walter was reading one of his more boring books, she could tell that from a glance at the title as she'd picked it up once before in the soon-abandoned spirit of trying.

"Read that to me," she requested impulsively, laying aside her magazine.

"Oh, you wouldn't be interested. Terribly stuffy and boring."

"You still think I'm the same stupid girl you married." Hurt, she started to rise from the couch but was detained by Walter's hand on her wrist.

"No, I don't," he was quick to assure her. "They say familiarity breeds contempt, and I've always hoped to avoid that. I see now I was wrong, but...old habits, that's all."

Mollified, she settled again and glanced pointedly at the book.

"Alright, darling, but don't blame me if you fall asleep."

Her jaw ticked. "You _do_ think me incapable of learning." She'd been sitting rather near, leaning into him and she scooted further down the couch.

"No," he said again with some agitation. "You've never asked."

And there was the guilt that was never far away, flaring up in full force as Kitty understood the meaning of his words. She had never by word or gesture indicated that she wanted to know anything about his work. If he brushed her questions aside, she saw now, it was because he understood that they were asked from politeness rather than any genuine interest. But in her guilt there was anger, as well, that he should blame her so entirely for that when he might have _tried _to spark her interest. Brushing her aside had only led to indifference.

"I'm asking now," she pointed out a bit more sharply than she'd intended, hoping he understood her unspoken words as she'd understood his.

"Yes," Walter agreed. "Alright, but-" Sense prevailed and he cut himself off, reaching an arm out hopefully, instead. She frowned, still piqued, and the arm drooped, his face flushing in embarrassment.

Kitty rolled her eyes, not inclined to pity when her own feelings were hurt.

"Read," she insisted, her voice choked with unexpected tears. She folded her arms, sulking and staring at her lap.

"Alright," he said again, quietly.

She wasn't expecting him to slide across the couch nearer to her, nor to drape his arm across her shoulder when he'd been so recently rejected. But he did, and Kitty tried in vain to hold herself aloof as he began to read. His voice had a pleasant, soothing quality that drew her in, even as the words made no real sense. Certainly they made sense to him, for he never faltered over the longest of them; but he was right, this was boring to her and she didn't dare tell him so, now, after she'd made such a fuss. Instead, she drifted, at peace, and her tensed arms dropped to rest over her stomach. There was a flutter there, a new, tiny thing, and she gasped.

Walter stopped reading instantly, face full of concern. She was glowing, when she looked at him, pressing her hands to the flutter to feel it again. "It's kicking me," Kitty said in wonder.

His face went gray, and he stood abruptly. Her joy vanished as she remembered what she'd never truly forgotten and for a second she cursed her baby for making itself known when things were so peaceful. He said nothing to her, only turned and went quietly up the stairs. She flinched when she heard a door slam, and knew that if she went up now it would be locked.

Then panic seized her, and she raced up the stairs after him. Walter was upset, and alone, and she'd no way of knowing what might happen. She beat frantically at the door, screamed his name, but all remained silent within. One of the servants, drawn by the commotion, ran up the stairs after her.

"Unlock this door," she demanded, but the boy looked at her blankly. "Unlock..." She gestured at the knob, made a turning motion with her hand. "Unlock. Do you understand me? Unlock!"

Oh, why hadn't she learned more Chinese?! But he seemed to understand well enough, nodding and running away again. "Walter," she slammed her open hand against the door, jarring her wrist. "Walter, open this door right now!" She was sobbing on her knees, clinging to the knob, when the boy returned with the key. Kitty grabbed it from him, unlocking the door herself and shoving it open.

The scene before her was relieving and heartbreaking at once. Walter was sitting on the bed, his face hidden by his hands. Frantically checking him over revealed no wounds, but when she pulled his hands away it was obvious he'd been crying.

"Dearest," she said with fierce tenderness. "My dearest, I was so afraid!"

He tried to shrug off her clinging arms, turned his face so that her kisses fell on his cheeks. Undeterred, she pressed her lips there, and then his chin, his forehead, the tip of his nose, anywhere she could reach; all the while he struggled against her hold. She pressed their foreheads together, her tears mingling with his.

"Oh, I thought-it's too horrible! I thought you-" She couldn't bring herself to speak the words.

"I thought about it," he admitted hoarsely.

She sobbed harder, hating herself, Charlie, her baby...The last thought was an unforgivable one and in the next moment she wished it had never crossed her mind. But it persisted; the baby growing inside her symbolized the world intruding on them, shattering the fragile peace they'd found in Mei-Tan-Fu. Kitty wished desperately that she could wrap them both, Walter and her baby, in a cocoon to protect them from herself, but she wished to be protected, as well, from the shame of knowing what she'd done. Could there be no peace, no protection, for any of them?


	13. Chapter 13

Invitations soon came for the courageous Dr Fane and his brave, loyal wife. In particular, one Dorothy Townsend was very interested in having the heroes around for dinner. For awhile, they were able to put the Townsends off, pleading illness, exhaustion, prior engagements. Neither was anxious to test the waters, peace had been irrevocably shattered as Kitty's baby made itself more and more obvious. Walter had stopped kissing her goodnight again and retreated to sleep in his own room. She now watched him shave, tensed to spring should his hand slip. But one could hardly offend the Vice Consul in such limited society and they were, at last, forced to accept.

Kitty was overwhelmed by what had once come so natural to her, as the women flocked around her to coo over the bump making itself known under her formal gown. She tried to smile and charm, gritting her teeth as Dorothy, too, joined in the fussing. How she wanted to hate the woman! But she could only find pity, knowing Charlie for what he really was. The heat of the room, the women pressed in around her, it all became too much and she wavered. A cry of alarm went up and the faces blurred, her eyes closing as she fell.

When she came back to herself, she was lying in a cool, dark room on a plush chaise; a cold rag on her forehead.

"There, darling, you've had quite a turn." Charlie Townsend was leaning over her, wearing that heartstopping smile of his as he sponged her brow.

"Walter," she said faintly, looking around. "Where-?"

"Ssssh, darling."

The endearment grated on her nerves. Where was her husband? "Where's Walter?"

"I confess I've no idea. Probably saw himself home." He took her into his arms, kissed her unresponsive lips. A frown darkened his face. "Now, Kitty, darling, you aren't still upset with me?"

"You'd have let me die." She shoved him away from her feebly, but it communicated her point well enough and he backed off.

"Nonsense. I told you cholera isn't as frightening as people make out, you're alright."

"Walter nearly wasn't."

"So I've heard. Dashed inconvenient of him, surviving like that." He eyed her stomach speculatively. "It would have made things much easier for us."

To hear him say it outright like that, that he'd have accepted her as his mistress had she returned a widow, revolted her. "This," she rested a hand on her stomach, "would have made things rather more difficult." For certainly a man in his position couldn't afford a bastard.

"Is it mine?"

"I think so, yes." She swallowed thickly.

"I'd have supported you."

His words felt like nothing so much as placation. If she fell into his arms now, as she'd once dreamed of doing, nothing would change. She could accept Walter's offer of divorce and become Charlie's mistress until he tired of her. Then, if she were lucky, he would continue providing for her. Or else, ruined, she'd move on to another who'd use her until he grew bored. She laughed in his face.

"Yes, just the way you did months ago when I begged for your help."

And though he tried again to embrace her, his arms held none of the comfort they once had and she deliberately turned her shoulder towards him so that he had difficulty pulling her into his arms. He chided her for being a silly little thing while she stared coldly at the wall, until, at last, he sighed and gave up. When he called her a silly thing this time, there was no affection in it.

"Please send for my driver, Mr Townsend, I'd like to go home," she responded shortly.


	14. Chapter 14

Walter was smoking on the sofa when she returned and the gaze he turned on her held so much heartbreak and betrayal it stopped her breath, but her back was up, as well, that he should have left her there.

"You made quite the scene, tonight." He laughed, the old darkness in it. The madness that had led him to drag her ten days up the river into certain danger.

"You left." There it was, short and to the point. "If anyone made a scene, it was you."

"I daresay _Mrs _Townsend," he emphasized Dorothy's status with the cruelest mockery, "smoothed things over for me after her husband carried you out. No doubt she's practiced at this sort of thing." The cigarette had burned out and he stubbed it impatiently in the ashtray. There were three there already.

"I daresay," she mimicked, "that she is." Her fists were clenched, and she wanted very badly to go up the stairs and lie down, but she dared not leave Walter to his own thoughts just now. He had been prepared to send her home, to sacrifice himself, only, to his unhappiness, for the sake of her child. She didn't fear he'd play with her own life, but his. The trust between them had been shattered months ago, and he could not help but believe the worst of her. Leaving him alone would be tantamount to murder. "She's a far more patient wife than I would have been for him."

"He wouldn't have made you happy," he continued as if he hadn't heard her, leaning back to regard her sardonically. "Not when you mean so little that he was prepared to let you die for his reputation."

"I know that," she informed him coldly. The words hit home, being so similar to her own from earlier, but they raised her ire, nonetheless, and chased out pity. "But don't you dare, Walter Fane!" She clutched the banister, afraid she might faint again. "Don't you _dare _pretend to be any better when it was _you _who took me there! You were prepared to let me die for the sake of your ridiculous pride. It would be better for me if I were rid of the both of you!"

All the fight seemed to go out of him at that. "You _do _want the divorce, then?"

"Yes," she choked. "Yes, I think I do. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's very late and I'm going to bed."

Halfway up the stairs, she turned to look back at him. How tired he looked, sitting there staring into nothingness, the line of his shoulders sagging with defeat, but there was no room in her right now for compassion. Not when he insisted on having none for her.

"I would very much like to be divorced, not widowed. Perhaps you might take that into consideration tonight." Leaving him with that thought, she went up the stairs to crawl into her empty bed. Pride had stifled her sobs for many nights, now, but she gave them full voice tonight and hoped maliciously that he'd hear and hold himself as cheap as she held herself.


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, Kitty felt much worse for having slept badly. She was too pale, her eyes reddened, and she looked into the glass with displeasure while brushing her hair. Feeling that she could make herself no more beautiful by trying, she opted for her oldest dress. A horribly out of fashion thing, but she wanted to be comfortable right now and it was certainly that.

She found Walter sleeping on the sofa, no less pale and puffy-eyed than herself. A covert examination, conducted with eyes only so as not to wake him -she couldn't face him just now- revealed that he breathed regularly and appeared uninjured. She breakfasted alone, barely tasting the food but knowing that for her child she must eat. The nausea she thought gone came rushing back halfway through, and she was retching in the bathroom when her husband found her quite by accident.

"I thought the worst had passed," he said, passing her a cup of water as she sat miserably in the floor.

"It had," she replied tonelessly. She rinsed her mouth, spat into the toilet. "I suppose it was all the upset."

"Go on back to bed, I'll get you some ginger ale."

Solicitous Walter would be much easier to deal with than an upset Walter, and at least he would stay until she felt better. The thought of malingering crossed her mind, but she didn't think she could bear the sight of him for very long.

"It isn't as if I fainted on purpose," Kitty defended herself tiredly when he returned with the ginger ale.

"Didn't you?"

So, the caring, attentive version of her husband intended to pick a fight, as well. She told herself very firmly not to cry at this development.

"No. And you might have followed us, if you were so worried about scenes."

"So I could watch the two of you make eyes at each other? Hardly." He scoffed at the very idea that he should have been welcome, and left her alone.

She hurled her glass at the closed door and curled up on her side, sobbing as hard as she had the previous night. Perversely, she wished him back into the room and allowed her sobs to escalate into howls; a wounded thing desperately crying out for comfort that never came.

Walter didn't return until hours later, frowning at the mess of broken glass and soaked carpet by the door.

"It won't do you any good if you don't drink it."

"Shut up!" She clutched at her hair. How could he be so cool? "Shutupshutupshutup! I'm going mad, living like this!"

"I don't like to turn you out in your condition-" he began stiffly.

"Pregnant," Kitty interrupted. "Say it. I'm pregnant, and there's every chance it isn't yours and you hate me for it."

"I never said that."

"You never had to." She turned from him, burying her face in the pillow.

"As I was saying," and he was distant and prim again, "I don't like to turn you out in your condition, but if you think it would be for the best-"

She laughed then; a madwoman's laugh. "Yes, that makes everything fine for you, doesn't it? You'd like it if I took that divorce right away and took my child off to die in the street."

"What nonsense you speak! As though I wouldn't provide for you."

She felt chilled all over, turning her head to look at him. "Charlie said the same thing. How nice it would be for both of you if I'd just go away quietly."

His carefully controlled expression darkened with hatred, and she believed for a moment he meant to cross the room and strike her. She sneered at him and waited, daring him. "Do not _ever _compare me to that man again," he ordered coldly, when he had mastered himself.

"Two sides of the same coin," she went on with false nonchalance. "It would be terribly convenient for you both if I had died, the problem would be all taken care of. But I didn't, and now you both want to buy me off like some sort of-some sort of whore."

"If the shoe fits, darling."

If she'd still had her glass, she'd have shattered it against his head for that. The word she'd so missed and longed for once more sharpened into a weapon to hurt her; she flinched as if from a physical blow. To his credit, Walter had gone pale.

"I'm s-"

"Get out, Walter," she turned her back on him once more. "Just get out."

He left quietly and a few minutes later, the amah came in to tidy up the broken glass. Servants were in and out of her room all day, but no Walter. The bland, easily digested meals sent up to her with more ginger ale must have been his orders, and her heart twinged at the thoughtfulness in spite of everything, but he never came back, himself. Which was all to the good when she couldn't bear the sight of him. In his place, she sat with her arms wrapped around herself; lost in self-pity and willing herself not to cry anymore, though she failed.

"You," she whispered to her baby. "We might be happy but for you." Kitty knew it was unfair of her. She'd never been happy with Walter, and her affair with Charlie saw to it that her husband was unhappy, as well, even had no child come of it. "No, I'm sorry. Mummy's sorry." In truth, she knew she'd never have felt any tenderness towards him at all had pregnancy not left her feeling curiously nurturing. And that wasn't much to base a marriage on. They still had nothing in common, however attractive she might have been finding him lately.

Walter returned just before bed, looking rather shamefaced. It gave her a pang to see that he'd not shaved all day. He didn't trust himself with a razor.

"I just wanted to say goodnight...and to apologize for my words earlier."

"Goodnight, Walter." She didn't say whether he was forgiven or not and presently he went away.


	16. Chapter 16

She must have left him feeling very rejected -though Kitty couldn't find it in herself to care- for Walter took to avoiding her entirely. Even though she felt wretched the next morning, she forced herself to get out of bed and carry on with life, bracing herself for the sight of him. But there was no Walter at breakfast, he'd left early. Nor did he come home at lunch. She didn't see him again until well into the evening, and this pattern was to continue for some days.

By the second week, she was becoming fearful, for the strong kicking of her baby had become less frequent during the past couple days.

"Please, no," she whispered to it during her afternoon nap, one hand resting on her stomach. "I'm sorry." She felt she'd become irretrievably hysterical if she cried again, it seemed she'd done nothing but since that first kick. "Don't you abandon me, too."

Perhaps it was irrational, but that was the way she felt; like something to be cast aside as soon as she became imperfect. Walter had loved her as a pretty doll while regarding her with a sort of fond contempt, and upon finding her quite human had been disappointed. Charlie had loved her much the same and gotten rid of her as soon as she became an inconvenience. Was she such a disappointment to her baby, too, that it would rather die? So many bitter wishes she longed to take back now, so many hurtful words whispered to her womb in such a short time.

That night, Kitty waited for her husband in his own room, where he couldn't hope to avoid her. He didn't see her, at first, sitting on his bed in the dark, and proceeded with his undressing. In his undershirt and trousers, he came to light the lamp and startled at the sight of her; red-eyed, pale and hideous.

"I _am _sorry, Walter. About everything. I've even been sorry to be having a child at all," her voice broke, "and I think she knows that. She's too still and I'm afraid. I'm so afraid." In her distress, Kitty failed to notice she'd assigned a sex to the life inside her. "Please, I'm falling apart...will you just hold me?"

For one long, horrible moment Walter was very still. She fully expected to be turned out and knew she would shatter if he did. There were too many broken pieces for her to hold together on her own. Then he was beside her, wrapping her safely in his arms and shushing her as she wept against his shoulder; soaking his shirt through and begging her baby to stay.

"There, darling, there. Ssh. Everything will be fine."

It was nonsense, the way he promised not to let anything happen to either of them; as if he could prevent a miscarriage by sheer force of will. Ridiculous. Still, the words soothed her and quieted her tears. Here, for a brief, precious time, was the peace and protection she sought. She closed her eyes and let herself drift into sleep, but she heard his voice just at the edge of consciousness.

"I'm sorry, too. For everything."


	17. Chapter 17

Kitty slept peacefully that night; the sleep of total exhaustion. Her dreams were bittersweet, for she dreamed of holding a little girl with Walter's smile. And her husband was there, as well, and they were all of them truly happy. It was a dream of nothing, yet it meant everything.

Upon awakening, she found herself still half-cradled and Walter looking terribly uncomfortable for having fallen asleep half-sitting up as if he were afraid of waking her should he move. The tenderness she'd begun to feel for him tried to stir in her breast but she refused to give in to it. They had barely moved forward when they were thrown back, and it would hurt so much more, when he gave in to the bitterness still inside him, if she'd allowed herself to feel content, first.

Yet no matter how she fought against it, she _did _feel relaxed and content this morning. Her hands dropped instinctively to cradle her womb, hoping against hope, and suddenly, there! That reassuring little flutter of life. She laughed, the sound waking her husband who looked puzzled to find his wife in his bed, moreso that she should look so happy. His gaze took her in, settling on her hands, and the fog of confusion lifted from him.

"Everything's alright, then?"

"Yes. Yes, I think so. Would you like to feel?" Kitty was cautiously hopeful when he didn't become immediately upset, and reached for his hand to place it over the fluttering. They waited in a pleasantly tense silence, then his eyes grew wide and a little sound of wonder left his lips.

"Incredible." His eyes were wet, but there was no darkness in them.

She felt emboldened to kiss his cheek, scratchy with morning stubble. She made a face of faux-displeasure.

"You need a shave," she ventured timidly, hoping he'd understand. Kitty had missed their little morning ritual.

"Yes," he agreed quietly, and smiled.

He watched her fondly this morning, as she went about the now-familiar routine. And it made her breath catch no matter how she fought against it. _I miss you_, she wanted to say, though that wasn't quite right. She couldn't miss someone she'd never truly known. She missed those few days when they were happy, when they felt truly married and kissing came as natural as breathing. Three, in total. Three days in which she could have almost loved him.

"May I talk to you," he asked afterwards.

They were always at their most pleasant with each other at this moment, and she could see he meant to take advantage of that. A kind of dread came over her. _Please don't let him spoil it all again. _

Kitty nodded consent despite her misgivings and let him led her back into her own room, where, he said, she would be most comfortable. Which did nothing to allay her fears. Nor did his pacing and twisting his hands about each other.

"Walter!" She snapped at him and he jumped as if he'd forgotten she was there. Her tone softened. "Please, just say whatever it is."

"I tried to address this the other day- may I," he interrupted himself, coming to sit by her when she nodded her consent, "but I did...rather badly." She listened in growing dread as he once more asked whether she could go on living with him for the duration of her pregnancy or would like to be divorced at once.

"Then you do want to put me away."

"No! God no! You're welcome to stay," he insisted, taking her hand in both of his and -to her surprise- kissing it, "as long as you like. I'm not offering this to buy you off," he tried to stress this by pressing the hand he still held. "I'm trying to make you happy, but, Kitty, I don't know how."

She could see, then, that Walter felt as lost as she. "Something in common at last. I haven't the faintest idea, myself." She squeezed his hand in her turn, offered him a wan smile. "Being alone terrifies me right now, always thinking of everything I regret. But you're always so cruel to me and I can't live like this."

"No, I don't suppose you can." He laughed without happiness. "But I've been doing an awful lot of thinking, lately -truly thinking, perhaps moreso than I ever did- about this entire situation." She tried to pull her hand from him, at that, fearing the worst, but he held fast. "And I think I _am _capable of being your friend, if not your husband."

Kitty wanted to ask if he meant he couldn't be her husband now, or ever, but she feared the answer, without quite knowing which answer she feared. "I'd like that."

Walter her friend, instead of her husband, she found much more agreeable. He still made an endearing nuisance of himself seeing that she was eating properly and resting as she should. If her back pained her, he fetched her a hot water bottle almost without her asking; having trained himself to watch for that first flicker of discomfort.

As friends, they once more played cards together in the evening, and he was willing enough to give her his secrets so long as they weren't too dearly held. That was the trick with Walter, she'd learned, he didn't like to impose himself but if he thought you were really listening he'd talk. In exchange, she surrendered more of her own life, now she knew he was interested; that he truly saw her and not his pretty doll. She knew his first kiss, his first lover (and it still pleased her that both should have been her), but he refused for a long while to tell her his first love.

"Was it me," she asked after the third win for herself, the third time she'd asked the question.

"You have an awfully high opinion of yourself," he said, the words friendly enough to elicit a pretty blush from her. "You weren't my first everything, you know."

He finally gave in half an hour later after Kitty turned her most charming pout on him. "Don't laugh," he warned.

Kitty crossed her heart solemnly.

"Her name was Rosemary and I was ten. She was sixteen, our neighbor, and I used to stay with her family when my parents were away. I'd always looked up to her older brother, wanted to be just like him, and one day he brought me a dead frog -he planned to study medicine and wanted to encourage my own interest in it- he'd dissected one for class and captured another for me, and said his sister had told him what a bright little boy I was, and he thought perhaps I'd like to get a headstart on my peers. I didn't understand, then, that they pitied me for having such distant parents. I thought Rosemary was trying to gain her family's approval so that she could marry me. I proposed with dandelions the next day."

She tried very hard to keep her promise, but her lips twitched and gave her away. "A dead frog? Really, Walter?"

"Ah," he scolded, wagging a finger at her. "You promised."

But his eyes were glowing and she didn't feel the least bit guilty when she was forced to cover her mouth to muffle her laughter. When she lost, he sought revenge in asking for her most embarrassing story.

"Don't laugh," Kitty mimicked, knowing that he would in spite of his promise. "It was my first piano recital and I was so nervous I lost my breakfast on stage in front of everyone."

Walter pressed his lips tightly together, making a far more valiant effort than she, but in the end, he was defeated as well.

If there was one thing she hated about having no real husband, it was this: he was willing enough to embrace her, should she find herself melancholy and in need of his arms, but he always escaped her as quickly as possible.

When he watched her in the mornings, intent on her task but aware of his eyes, she could feel the old adoration, but should she meet his gaze the fire was carefully banked and hidden away.


	18. Chapter 18

The baby adored Walter, there was no other explanation for what was happening. No matter how still Kitty's womb when she was alone, she knew there was no cause to worry unless Walter failed to elicit a reaction. For at the first sound of his voice, the child was alive with movement, sometimes so vigorous it was near pain. Perhaps she -Kitty had by now quite made up her mind that it was to be a girl- sensed the calm her mother felt around him, for it had been that way ever since the night she'd fallen apart and he'd held her together when she couldn't anymore. Kitty took to asking if he'd read to her in the evenings before bed.

"You don't like my books," he pointed out without resentment, the first time she'd asked.

"No," she'd agreed with a smile, one hand resting on the far too active bump, "but it might help me sleep."

He'd laughed a little at that, and brought in the book she deemed dullest. (She would have blushed like a schoolgirl to admit that it was his voice, not the dryness of the book, which lulled her.) At first, Kitty had thought she'd made a mistake and would be unable to rest, as her daughter kicked frantically inside her, but gradually the movement slowed to the tiniest flutters and stopped altogether.

"It worked," she whispered, relieved.

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he dared kiss her forehead and bid her goodnight before turning out the lamp.

It became routine, then, that he'd follow her to her room and sit in the chair by her bed to read. She suspected at times that he recited the words from memory, for more often than not his eyes strayed to her stomach and stayed there. She'd not asked again if he'd like to feel the movement, and Walter had never indicated that he might want to, but at times like this she couldn't help but wonder.

The baby was particularly active, tonight, and Kitty could hear how tired he was in the way his voice lowered in pitch, but he pressed on for her sake as she shifted restlessly. She didn't know quite when she'd fallen asleep, but when she awoke some time later the room was in darkness. She must have missed Walter's exit, and it saddened her a little to think she'd missed the only kisses he'd grant her. Turning onto her side, she encountered a curious lump beside her on the bed and stretching out her hand to investigate revealed the softness of human hair; she barely stopped herself from screaming as logic told her it could only be Walter. As her eyes adjusted to see by the moonlight, she could just make out the shape of him, kneeling by the bed with his head resting next to her belly. And she knew, then. It was the most ridiculous, wonderful thing!

"Walter," she whispered hopefully, "could you love me even still, with all my flaws? Could you love us both?" There was no answer, but with her hand resting on his hair, she didn't need one. His presence said enough.

When she woke again the next morning, he was gone. He came back to her that night, and the next, and the next, but never again did she wake to find him still there. Disappointed, Kitty never mentioned it, nor did Walter, and soon the incident was as good as forgotten.


	19. Chapter 19

Invitations still came, though most came with the understanding that the heavily pregnant Mrs Fane might refuse. Kitty, despite her caution, was bored and things were as peaceful as they could be at home, so after some deliberation she accepted an invitation from a number of their circle to have dinner together and attend a Chinese opera.

Dinner was a pleasant enough affair, though she had to refuse champagne and couldn't truly join in the merriment. The laughter and jokes flowed freely and though Walter sat as uncomfortably as always, she felt she better understood him now and nudged her ankle against his beneath the table so that his smile became just a little less pained.

She barely understood a word of the opera, and she didn't think she'd ever get used to the high, almost shrieking notes of the singers, but it was bright and distracting and she could forget herself for a few hours.

"Kitty Fane?"

She turned at the voice, her heart sinking at recognizing Dorothy Townsend.

"I thought it might be you," Dorothy went on. "I had no idea you were still going out. How have you been?"

"We've been terribly worried," cut in a much-dreaded voice as Charlie leaned forward with his wife. There was a peculiar emphais on "we've," and with the skill of habit Kitty understood he was discreetly enquiring about her pregnancy.

"Oh, there's no need for you to worry about me," she tried very hard not to let herself pointedly emphasize "you," but she must have failed because Walter grew tense beside her. "I was only a little overcome with the heat."

"Of course, dear," Dorothy said. "You must keep an eye on her, Walter," she continued. "Don't let her overexert herself."

"Yes, _do _keep an eye on her," Charlie said with an insinuating little laugh. "Wouldn't want her getting into trouble."

Kitty closed her eyes, willing herself away from there as she saw her little bubble of contentment shattering once more. Then Walter spoke, and it seemed he, too, understood how to send a message.

"We appreciate your concern, but there's no need. I don't intend to let _my wife_ come to any harm." And he reached out his hand to clasp hers, thumb stroking her knuckles soothingly.

Kitty giggled, falsely, but the sound was one that a flattered wife _should _make and she hoped it was convincing. "So protective."

Her baby chose that moment to react to mummy's agitation, kicking sharply enough to make her gasp. She blessed her daughter for the excuse. "Oh! I'm afraid someone," she laid a hand on her belly indulgently, "is getting restless from all this excitement. And there'll be no rest for _me, _if I don't calm her down."

"Shall I get the car," Walter asked, and she squeezed his hand in silent thanks.

"No need, I'll come with you." She fumbled gathering her things, trying to mouth the necessary meaningless pleasantries and promises to visit. Walter stood uncomfortably silent and she prayed it was only his normal reticence, not a gathering storm to rip her to peace of mind to shreds.

He led her out with his hand pressed to the small of her back, as was proper, but she still feared what was to come and a whimper caught in her throat.

"Not here," he cautioned, the words gentle. "Hush, not here."

Reassured, she lay her head on his shoulder and allowed his arm to creep further around her; hoping she only looked the part she'd assigned herself, the tired, pregnant wife, and not the humiliated adultress she felt.

The drive home was silent and stifling, and it was a relief to be once more in her own foyer. Kicking her shoes carelessly aside, she threw her coat into the closet and tried to escape to her room. Walter followed her, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

"Dorothy knows," she moaned, sitting on the bed and burying her face in her hands. "It's too humiliating."

She saw now that the playful way Charlie spoke to some of the women in their circle was nothing short of a pointed barb aimed at a woman who could do nothing. She'd mistaken it for charm, once, but it was Dorothy who possessed the true charm. Charlie must have put so many backs up against him, but it was for Dorothy's sake things went away quietly. Small wonder he couldn't afford to divorce her.

"You can't know that," he kept his back pressed to the door as if he intended to keep the world out that way.

"It was her eyes. She pitied me. Walter, it's too awful."

"You didn't always think it was so awful, her knowing."

Stung, she looked up in prepartion to defend the indefensible, but Walter, too, was only looking at her with pity.

"I don't intend to quarrel," he told her. "You've been through enough tonight."

"I'm never going out again," she said miserably.

"Yes, you will." He came to her then, sat down beside her and -after a quick glance to ensure it was welcome- placed his arm around her shoulders. She turned and pressed her face against him. "You'll go out as much as you like, and you won't hide from the likes of Charles Townsend."

"I'll hide from _everyone_," she insisted, though she felt there was no escaping the invisible eyes of shame that watched her even here. "He speaks to them all like that, I see it now. I could tell you exactly who. And they'll all know."

His cheek rested on top of her hair. "Just as you know."

"But how long can you live with it? With me?"

"As long as you need." The words held a promise, and she breathed out; releasing the tension she'd held for so long. "Would you like me to read tonight?"

Kitty shook her head as much as her position allowed. "No, there's no need. She's calm, see?" Taking his free hand, she placed it over the now less-violent fluttering. "You have such an effect on her, sometimes I swear she reacts more to you than me."

He kissed her hair and she raised herself to look at him. It wasn't hidden, now, everything about him said that he loved her, still, and she laughed joyfully, kissing his cheek.

Walter regarded her solemnly for a moment, and she could practically _see _the gears turning in his mind as he studied her. Apparently finding what he sought, the hand on her stomach slid to her hip and he pulled her nearer; bringing his lips to hers just the way she'd hoped he might. It was a tender, undemanding sort of kiss, but there was a promise of passion in it, waiting only for a sign of welcome.

Kitty gave the sign willingly enough, sliding her fingers into his hair; her mouth opening to invite a deeper kiss. She directed his lips to her neck, her own finding that spot just behind his ear and the sound he made caused her to blush head to toe with need. "Be my husband," she pleaded with her mouth against his ear.

"Show me how," he answered breathlessly.

Sober, this time, she knew Walter wouldn't laugh or abandon himself as easily should he feel ridiculous. But she was determined that he shouldn't become too caught up in his worries, and plied him with the touches she'd learned months ago in Mei-Tan-Fu. Before Charlie, she hadn't known men and women loved in any way but one, and he'd laughed at her for being so naive for a woman two years married. He'd taught her much, but she pushed all thoughts of him aside. What she had learned of her own pleasure, she taught her husband. Lying on her back was uncomfortable, now, but there were other ways and she taught him that, as well. He was a vey attentive student, and she regretted that she'd never thought to teach him, before. But, then, perhaps, had the old Kitty turned to the old Walter, she'd have made a hash of the whole thing and he'd have been too offended to truly hear her.

Afterwards, with both of them sated and pleasantly exhausted, he spoke as shyly as he'd done when first they met. "Was that...That is, I mean, did you..."

"Yes," she said, and kissed him goodnight.


	20. Chapter 20

It was different now, in the mornings. She still kept her eyes firmly fixed on the task before her, but should her eyes happen to meet his -which happened with more frequency as Kitty caught herself watching him, willing him to look back- he held her gaze deliberately until she grew flustered and was forced to pause until she felt steady again. Sometimes, Walter rested his hands on her hips, making her laugh and chide him for causing such delay; but even her exasperation had a touch of sensuality to it as she softened her warnings to "behave" with kisses. She used her kisses sparingly at such times, for fear he should never let her go long enough to work.

When he returned to her in the evenings, she was perhaps more eager to see him than a proper lady should be. Then again, Kitty had lost any claim to be such ages ago. There was not always patience enough to wait for her husband to kiss her goodnight, another nod to propiety, for she'd once thought _decent _people only did such under cover of darkness -which had made her afternoon liasons with Charlie seem even more decadent-, and sometimes Walter found himself thoroughly debauched before dinner.

More and more often, however, the life growing inside her demanded that she rest. Evenings out were less frequent, for which she was grateful though she knew there'd come a time when they must make the rounds again. The thought no longer scared her, as Walter hovered near at every gathering and should they chance upon the Townsends, or any other woman whose face made Kitty grow pink with humiliation, she had no cause to worry that he wouldn't help her escape. He still possessed no charm, but being mortally afraid of making scenes had given him a good deal of tact, which he now used to her advantage.

The time came, -much too swiftly, to her frustration-, that she could no longer comfortably give herself, but her husband received the news goodnaturedly enough and there was still a certain joy to be had in the kisses he gave her before sleep.

There came a morning when, after a fitful night, she was unable to rise with him. Walter saw himself shaved and dressed well enough without her, though the process was a slow one as he stopped to check on her at every opportunity.

By tiffin, Kitty was pacing frantically around the sitting room and could no longer deny the need for a doctor. By the time he arrived, the pains which had been with her all night had increased until she could scarce tell where one ended and the next began; thinking he'd be far too late, she'd greeted his arrival with a sob of relief.

Walter was sent for, but no matter how he protested his own credentials the doctor wouldn't let him into the room. Bringing her some ice to suck on, the amah informed the doctor -who dutifully translated with an amused head shake- that master was pacing the sitting room just as missy had earlier. And even in her pain, Kitty laughed.

Her husband was forced to wait well into the next morning, by which point she'd no doubt he'd fallen asleep on the sofa if not in his own room. She was apprehensive of waking him, wondering how soon after recovery he would expect her and her little Elizabeth out. Her daughter had Charlie's eyes.

"How do you feel," was the first thing he asked her. 

"Exhausted," she laughed. "Thrilled."

"May I see her?"

She bit her lip until she tasted blood, though she nodded consent and pulled back the blanket. "But, Walter..."

But he saw, and he knew. Kitty could tell by the way he grew paler just for a moment. She wanted to cry. Then he reached out one finger to run along Elizabeth's soft cheek, and his face cleared. "She's beautiful."

"But-"

"Yes, I know. It doesn't matter now, does it?"

"No." But just because he bore her no grudge, didn't mean he wanted to see another man's child day in, day out. "How soon do you want us to leave? I need a bit of time to recover, but I promise not to overstay my welcome."

Walter looked crestfallen. "I hadn't realized you were still going. Stay as long as you need." and he turned to leave as her heart leapt joyfully in her chest.

"Wait!" He did. "You'll still have me, then? Have the both of us?"

When he faced her again, he was smiling; the corners of his eyes crinkled with it.

"Of course, darling. Why wouldn't I keep my wife and daughter around?"

"Dearest." She reached out one arm for him and he came to her quickly, sinking onto the bed and gathering the both of them up. Elizabeth made a little noise of protest at being so enthusiastically jostled, but even now she recognized her father's calming presence and subsided.

"Didn't you know I was awfully in love with you?" There was a smile in his voice as he echoed his younger self.

She recognized the words, leaning contently on his shoulder. "We'll do a much better job of it this time, I think." And added almost shyly, "My Love."

They would do better, she was sure of it. He had been a familiar presence for two years, but she felt she truly _knew _him, now, and that made all the difference.


	21. Chapter 21

** EIGHTEEN YEARS LATER**

Betty Fane was a pretty girl, her mother thought with pride. The father who had created her had given her a certain handsomeness that blended nicely with her mother's smile and dark hair, but she was Walter's child through and through. Despite all her efforts with the two of them, neither could read a note of music -though they loved hearing Kitty play- and owing perhaps to the nights he'd spent reading to her in the womb, Betty was far more scientifically inclined than her mother. The father who raised her could not have been more proud.

By now, her parents had come to accept there would be no more children. Kitty had hoped desperately for another, but it seemed the fault lay with Walter and not herself, since she'd had no trouble conceiving with Charlie. It was Walter himself who had put forth the theory, his voice conveying the deepest sorrow but no bitterness.

"I'm sorry," she'd said one night when Betty was five. "I suppose we missed our chance to have one of our own."

"I rather think Betty might have been our only chance."

"What do you mean?" She'd raised her head from his chest to look at him, not quite understanding.

"Two years, and nothing. Then Townsend came along."

"Walter, please-" They'd moved back to their own country not long after Betty was born. To everyone else, they wanted to raise her among proper English society; in truth Kitty had been unable to bear the idea of their child ever being around Charlie, and Walter had made the necessary arrangements so that he might work in England. Charles Townsend had not been spoken of, since, and it needled her that he should do so, now.

He shushed her, and his voice held no accusation as he continued. "I imagine, then, the defect lies with myself, not you. If not for him, we wouldn't have Betty." Kitty had nodded sadly, lying back down. "And I can't resent that," he added, embracing her just a little tighter.

"At least you'll know, then," she said with a watery laugh, "if I've been faithful." The joke was a grim one, but she hadn't truly meant to be funny.

"The silver lining," he agreed, answering in the same vein.

They made their peace with it, and Betty had yet to ask who she looked like. Another blessing, then, for a sibling might have given her cause to wonder why her own features didn't quite match up with her family.

"I'm nervous, mummy," Betty said, picking at her breakfast. Her final exams were today.

"There's no need. If I know your father, you know everything on that test forwards and backwards. Eat," she added, "you can't think on an empty stomach.

"Listen to your mother," Walter added. "Eat up, or you're going to be late."

Kitty was pleased to have such a clever daughter and had very little doubt that she'd pass and go on to university. Their Betty had been raised much differently from her mother. Kitty had been unable to help being proud of her child's beauty, but Betty valued herself as intelligent, as well, and knew she need never settle for a man she didn't love just to have a roof over her head. She would complete her studies in her own time, and she would find a man who valued her from the first as more than a pretty trinket.

After their daughter had rushed away to "have her fate decided," Kitty allowed her own nerves to get the better of her. Walter tried to distract her, even going so far as to turn on the radio and offer her a dance; a noble sacrifice when he was still so hopeless at it, but though she laughed with him, at him, she fretted for Betty's dreams. For the dreams she, too, might have had if she'd been raised to be more than a doll. Walter had made an effort at instructing her the way he did Betty, but she feared it was too late for her. Or perhaps she'd never had a head for intelligence at all. She didn't know which was worse.

That evening, after dinner, a very nervous Betty informed them that Robert had proposed to her in front of school on the way home. Kitty choked and went silent. Walter nudged her foot under the table, telling her without words he was going to leave this battle up to her.

"What about university?" Her voice conveyed all her disappointment.

"Mummy, please don't look at me like that. _Of course _I'm going to university. We're going together, that's all. We've applied to all the same ones."

"And if this doesn't work out?"

"Then we go our seperate ways. Perhaps he'll meet someone else, or perhaps I will. We've talked about it. Please don't worry."

Kitty promised that she wouldn't, but in bed that night, she admitted that she still did. "I don't want her to rush."

"Our Betty is a smart girl, and she knows how to make her own way. She's not going to get desperate and settle for the first bore who comes along."

"You _are _a dreadful bore," she snarked at him because she knew his choice of words had been intended to get a rise out of her.

Walter only laughed and kissed her goodnight.


End file.
